


Tumblr Prompts

by hypnoidvoid



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bisexual Richie Tozier, F/F, F/M, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-07 15:16:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16856395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoidvoid/pseuds/hypnoidvoid
Summary: This is a collection of prompts that I have filled from Tumblr! The ratings and pairings for each may vary, and if there are any warnings I think that apply to the drabble I'll make it clear :)





	1. The Good Kush

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: For the prompts, one of the losers announces to Eddie and Richie that they like each other and they awkwardly have to deal with that.
> 
> The Losers are smoking weed at their ‘spot’, HA

“Listen, hey _no no_ , you pass that to me next,” Richie whapped Eddie’s hand away, winking at Bev. He took the the hash pipe and torched the bowl until there was nothing left; only ash and resin. It was empty, barren, with the smoldering remnants gluing themselves to the insides of Richie’s lungs.

“Fu-uH,ck,” he coughed incoherently, burying his head into the nook of Eddie’s shoulder when all the smoke was away. Eddie’s neck may have been lower, but that was almost better for Richie’s liking. The arch of his cool neck arched perfectly across Eddie’s jugular, resting perfectly behind his warmed head, being able to sniff his freshly washed chestnut locks. Loreal, always Loreal. It wasn’t even a particularly favored scent to Richie, but it was the scent of Eddie’s shower, Eddie’s clothes, Eddie’s sheets, Eddie’s home.

 _Eddie_. And Eddie was his home.

And whatever Eddie reeked of, Richie would have melted into. It could have been marshmallow with hints of sewage. Richie would have smiled and swam in garbage scents with thoughts of ‘ _Eddie_ ’; and loved it.

“C’mon Richie, it’s my turn,” Eddie argued without shrugging his shoulder, keeping Richie’s head soundly where it rested. As heavy as Richie’s head was, the weight of his chin, his curls, the press of the frame of his glasses, his breath dancing along Eddie’s neck,  the rise and fall of his chest, Eddie savored every sensation.

“Fine, if you must,” and Richie slinked an arm around Eddie’s waist, the other wafting behind his back to give Eddie the glass piece.

“W-w-want me to pack it?” Bill spoke up, next to Richie. Stan also had his head soundly rested on Bill’s shoulder, but with his eyes keenly open. They were droopy, peacefully dreaming of other things outside of their smoking circle.

Eddie caressed Richie’s hand to direct it towards Bill, “Please do, I fuck it up every time.”

Bill skillfully pinched off the best parts of the bud and packed it into the bowl of their collective hash pipe. His fingers worked with a practice that his mind had, but his mouth could never catch up with. It frustrated him often, but the moments he could exemplify skill without voice reminded the Losers why he was a leader, and why questioning him before he could speak properly was unwise.

Arising from the blanket he laid on, Mike arched his back and disorientedly snapped his head side to to side to remember where he was, “ _Wher_ -, oh wait hi guys.”

The group collectively gave him a “Mikey!”

“W-want a hit a-uh-after Ed?” Bill offered. It was his weed after all; and Alaskan Thunderfuck, Alaskan Thunderfuck!

“Fuck no,  _wait_ , is Eddie smoking? I will if he is,” Mike blurted as if Eddie wasn’t directly in front of him. Mike flew higher than a kite, drifting with the wind that wasn’t even there, and fucking  _loved_  it.

Bill dryly chuckled, “Yeah.”

Mike massaged his temples, “Well shit, if he’s smoking weed now, then they must be fucking. Richie still here?  _Fuck_ , oops. But hey, that was the bet.”

Ben, who had been combing his fingers through Beverly’s hair, choked and fell over in laughter.

Eddie took the pipe from Bill, frantically gaping at the group, “BET? NO,  _no_ , absolutely not, we’re just, we’ve been seeing each other a lot recently for studyin-”

Richie shuffled himself into Eddie’s lap and lucidly picked his head up off of Eddie’s shoulder to shout frighteningly loud, “ISN’T MY BOYFRIEND THE CUTEST?”


	2. Painted Nails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Prompt: eddie confesses something to Richie ❤️
> 
> Andddd I made Richie confess something to Eddie oops lmao. I do my best here fam PFFF

“You see that one there?” Eddie pointed to a spot on his ceiling, laying back on his bed. The summer breeze rolled through his open windows, even in the early hours of the morning, or late hours of the night, sending relief of minor chill over dampened skin. 

Richie squinted and folded his hands behind his head lying next to Eddie, “What one?”

Eddie pointed with more enthusiasm at the same spot, “That one, that one right there.”

Shuffling his body to touch Eddie’s side, Richie struggled even harder to see what Eddie was talking about and pointed at a place he thought Eddie was trying to identify, “That one?”

Eddie sighed, “ _No_. Okay try this, close one eye and look at that, THAT BLOB RIGHT,  _yeah that one_ , and tell me,  _I dare you_ , tell me it doesn’t look like the Deathstar.”

As Richie squinted, Eddie gently retrieved Richie’s glasses off of his face and folded them to rest neatly on his desk. Using his own hand, he cupped Richie’s right eye, simultaneously curling his body over the taller boy’s for comfort and whispered, “See it now? Even a little bit?”

With all the effort Eddie was putting into this, Richie would have lied and told him that he did see it either way. However, he really did see it. Partially blinded without his glasses and with Eddie’s hand cupped over an eye, there was indeed a blob on Eddie’s ceiling that looked like the Deathstar.

 _No shit, he was right,_ Richie thought. 

One of the hands behind Richie’s head unraveled to spin Eddie into a tightly woven cocoon closer to him, close as as can be; there was always too much space between them for Richie to handle. He needed to feel Eddie’s heat against his icy skin. He would have needed Eddie close to him even if he didn’t necessarily need Eddie close to him.

And he happily smiled into that heat.

Instinctively, we associate heat with life, and boy, Eddie was filled with so much life. Absorbing that heat was delving into that life source, appreciating the energy that thrived under that skin. There were nebulas, asteroid belts, and grey matter, but they were squished into nonexistence as Richie pulled his boyfriend into a suffocating grip for a kiss only meant for elite cosmos.

Eddie reluctantly pulled away after a few moments, staring into his aquamarine eyes, “Cute.”

“That’s my line, fucker,” Richie cheesed, smashing his lips into the side of Eddie’s face too many times.

“And plus, look I do see the Deathstar,” Richie pointed at the ceiling with one hand, the other one directing Eddie’s chin to look in the direction he was pointing.

Eddie snatched Richie’s forearm and pulled his hand close to his face, “Oh my God. These are painted! Who painted your nails? And  _black_? It was fuckin’ Be-”

Richie retracted his hand and furiously blushed, ramming his face into the front of Eddie’s sweatshirt, “Yeah yeah Bev painted them. I know it’s weird, but it’s fun sometimes to-”

Eddie lightly coerced Richie’s face up from his chest and lovingly told him, “I don’t think it’s weird at all. In fact, it’s kinda hot, paint mine sometime?”


	3. Boyfriends For A Minute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Reddie and fake dating!! Not enough of those :)
> 
> IT’S A YES FROM ME FAM. GOOD PROMPT, HELL YES.

“You know…. this isn’t half bad,” Eddie admitted, loudly slurping on his mango smoothie.

Richie straightened his back and spoke with the speed of an auctioneer, “We got a Footlocker ladies and gentlemen, we got a Charming Charlie’s, we got a Macy’s, Sears, a Lush where all they ask you is questions and you can’t even take your time to smell the goodies,  _heck_ , we even got an Auntie Anne’s pretzels! The fucking  _luxury_! All we need is a Buffalo Wild Wings-”

Eddie playfully scooted his shoulder into Richie to quiet him, “Okay so they didn’t pick the  _best_  shops to add, but there are planters, y’know? And fancy light posts.”

Derry most of the time was a shit town. It was bleak, gray, raining all the time, and there was nothing to do. You could go fishing, hike in the woods and get lost, visit your second cousin a few blocks away, but there was nothing you really ever  _wanted_  to do or anywhere you wanted to visit. Over the last few months, someone on the city council made the call to build an outdoor mall in the hub of the city in hopes it would encourage more people to retract from the shitholes they call home. And those were his exact words too, secretly recorded on a phone by an intern and posted on the internet for laughs. However, he was right. The outdoor mall did bring more people into the city, including the youngins.

Richie sparked a cigarette as they rounded the corner, and was courteous enough to keep it in the hand away from Eddie so he didn’t have to be in the cloud of his puffs.

“Well Eds, at least there’s a bowling alley so I’ll think we’ll be jus’ fine,” and Richie slung a lanky arm over Eddie’s shoulders, still consciously keeping the cigarette far away from Eddie’s breathing space.

Around the corner, a grandeur fountain spewed arched streams with a gaudy cherub dancing in the center, spitting water as well.

“Fuck that thing is ugly,” Richie chuckled, his words garbled with the cigarette in his mouth.

“ _Oh fucking hell,_ ” Eddie breathed after looking at the group of people congregating around the fountain.

“What’s wron-”

Eddie intertwined his fingers with Richie’s hand that was slung around his shoulder as they approached the fountain. Richie choked, widening his eyes and snapping his neck at Eddie with confusion. But, he didn’t pull away, not even slightly. If anything, he tightened his fingers around Eddie’s hand.

“Just go along with this,  _please please_ , I’ll explain later,” Eddie whispered so that only Richie could hear as they approached the group of people. Richie flicked his cigarette into the fountain and held his grip around Eddie in silent agreement.

One of the girls in the group excitedly waved at Eddie and ran over to the two, “Hey Eddie! I’m so excited to see you, I was getting worried that you didn’t respond to my texts….  _Oh_! Hi, who’s this?”

Eddie flashed a fake smile, “Hey Myra, yeah sorry about that, I’ve just been really busy. Like  _really_  busy. That psych paper has me just,  _wow_ , rolling in work. And this is Richie, my uh… this is my boyfriend.”

Even though Richie knew Eddie was fucking bluffing, his face went red and his left eye twitched behind his glasses. There was something about those words that made flurries of butterflies swipe against the lining of his stomach and his knees nearly buckle. But, he played along as Eddie had requested.

“Hi sugah, nice to meet ya,” Richie devilishly grinned at Myra, massaging Eddie’s shoulder with his thumb, the rest of the fingers still woven with Eddie’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she responded with obvious disappointment in her voice.

“We’re going to the bowling alley right now and don’t want to be late meeting our friends, but um, it was nice seeing you! Going to class on Monday?”

Myra pinched a smile, “Yeah! I’ll see you then.”

Richie pressed a sloppy kiss to the side of Eddie’s face as they walked the circumference of the fountain and waved behind him, “Bye Mara!”

“It’s Myra,” she grumbled.

Eddie blushed and lightly elbowed him in his ribs, “A kiss?  _Really_?”

“Only the best for my  _boyfriend_ ,” and Richie scooped Eddie into his arms and started sprinting towards the bowling alley. They were both cackling. 


	4. Cliffhanger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> losvernotafighter asked: Okay okay okay. Reddie being in what Richie believes to be a life or death situation (it’s not really that bad) and declaring his love for Eddie who just kisses him to shut him up. ❤️❤️ - Amy (reddies-spaghetti)
> 
> So I hear you like “not that bad of a situation”….. I missed the memo (ends cute though). Love you Amy :”)

On the road again. **  
**

Dust, dirt, leaves, cracks in the pavement that fill with muck, the strangers, flurries of wind, unrecognizable horizons and sunsets: all part of the road, leading in directions uncharted.

They were on the road, but this time was different. There was no plan of return, no coming back to a town belittled with bloodied tragedy, no exacerbated guidance, and no want to remain there in the future, mentally exiling all people left behind. The safety net built by childhood disintegrated, scattering across the floor like smoke through fossilized spider webs. This was final.

_Call me honey, please. I need to know you’re okay. You don’t have to tell me where you are, I just, I need to know you’re okay. We left things in a bad place, I know, but please call me. Everything will be okay. I promise. I need to hear from my baby, please._

The road called, and the road received. Staying stagnant can cripple a soul. Ultimately, the road is where we turn to in the end; it’s asphalt, even more enjoyable when rain falls to darken its shade and lift its smoky fragrance, and christens new beginnings but brings most journeys to finality.

Clocks tick, seasons melt into different hues of orange then blue, but the road remains.

“What’s the map say?” Richie eagerly asked, hands firm on the wheel.

Eddie scanned his eyes over the unraveled map, “Three more miles, then make a left.”

“Are you sure? You said three more miles like ten minutes ago.”

“I……  _yes_  I’m sure,” Eddie confirmed without confidence. He placed a hand on Richie’s thigh as he drove, patting to reassure him, even if he himself, wasn’t sure. It also helped him forget the voicemail his mom left him.

“And look at that, Boston! What a good start,” Richie giggled, ravenously shaking his head to rid his face of the thick black locks hanging over his glasses. His crooked, horn rimmed glasses creeped down his nose as he drove, avoiding to fix them from concentrating on the looped cliff roads.

Eddie pushed Richie’s glasses up his nose for him and leaned closer, “Take pictures in graveyards with me.”

“But…. but the  _dead_  people, Eds. They’ll reach out from the ground and eat our  _hearts_ , our  _brains_ , our  _dicks_ , then use our bodies as  _fucktoys_ -”

Eddie pinched his lips and persuaded, “What if I buy you a chocolate apple, hmm? Chopped almonds and everything?”

Richie took a moment to deliberate, “I  _do_  like candy apples…”

“Knew you would cave-”

_“HOLY SHI-”_

A swerving UHAUL truck bounded the corner on the wrong side of the rode, crashing into the front of their Subaru and causing them to spin a few times, and then off the cliff. They were as good as dead.

The voice of his mother wrung in his ears, ‘ _The world isn’t safe Eddie Bear, stay with Mommy. I’ll protect you_ ’.

They rolled once, twice, then was halted by the trunk of an oak tree, demolishing the rear passenger door and taking off the back end. Eddie and Richie simultaneously peered over their deployed airbags with staggered breath.

On the other side of the tree, the cliff vertically dropped about one hundred feet into a gully. The vicious river at the bottom would have killed them. In the car, or not in the car. They both knew it, and both started crying after minutes of silence.

Richie slowly unbuckled his seat belt and cupped Eddie’s cheek between hastened sobs, directing his face to look at him, “I love you Eddie, _look at me_ , I love you so much.”

Eddie’s lip quivered and he leaned into Richie’s hand, placing his own hand over it, “I love you too. I-I can’t believe-”

Richie swiped his thumb over Eddie’s lips. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do, nothing they  _could_  do. He lifted the center divider of the car and scooted himself close enough to Eddie to pick him up and place him in his lap.  

The kiss they shared was one they would never forget. Helicopters circled over their car, ambulances wailed above the cliff overhang, people shouted, but all the two could hear were their heartbeats in their ears. Everything else went silent. They were okay, and would be okay, even away from the place they ran from.

It was a kiss shared they both felt that may have never happened again.


	5. Neapolitan Bird Bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lo-is-not-coolio asked: UhHhHHH platonic or romantic stozier finding a hurt bird on a bike ride
> 
> A/N: Okay so this deadass turned into a oneshot. Stozier is my fuckin’ brotp so here I come with the FEELS. Also, for those of you that read my Reddie fic Key to the Jungle, I wrote this to be an additional out of storyline excerpt/blippet of the highschool versions of Stan and Richie in their junior year. Ecologist!Richie and Ornithologist!Stan are best friends and have been forever and now I’m crying, thank you and have a kickass day. I love adding on to this universe.
> 
> Link to my fic here: [Key to the Jungle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343051/chapters/33103455)

[Friday, April 16, 2010]

The sun, as much life as it nourished with its light and warmth, disappeared behind thick clouds as only a disfigured apparition. Rays reflected, yearned to bust through, but could only try its best to light the naturally shadowed town of Derry, Maine.

Rain collided with the glass from outside of the classroom. It pounded hard, making music of its own along with the monotone voice of their AP biology teacher lecturing about the differences in photosystems. Richie half listened, and half paid attention to different couplets of raindrops, making bets in his head as to which one would run faster down the glass. The one he always bet on seemed to be the losing raindrop unfortunately; good thing he didn’t wager any money. It was also a good thing he sat pretty far back in the classroom, otherwise the teacher may have heard his quieted hums of the  _Speed Racer_  theme song.

Richie knew every detail the teacher was talking about. Transcription  _blah blah_ , NADPH+  _blah fucking blah_ , cytochrome  _this_  electron flow  _that_ , more  _blah blah_. Not even with cockiness, he just already knew the information from reading as much as he did. He’d probably be able to teach the material better than the teacher, even at seventeen years of age.

“Why the fuck would they keep it photosystem I, if photosystem II comes first. Just rename that shit,” Richie whispered with annoyance after leaning into Stan’s ear, who sat in front of him.

Instead of verbally responding, Stan tore a piece of paper out of his spiralled notebook and wrote in masterful cursive  _‘to make us miserable’_ , and indiscreetly passed it to Richie behind his back.

Richie took the pencil resting atop his ear, twirled it twice in his fingers and scribbled back, ‘ _must have been the same dude that took Pluto away from us. i fucking miss Pluto’._

Stan snorted, and wrote  _‘don’t we all’_.

Doodling a frightening sad face next to Stan’s response, he continued on the next line, ‘ _id rather die than have to spend more time listening to this george bush lookin motherfucker. me tHinKs we know more than he does’_.

Stan admitted in his delicate text, _‘even you probably have more brain cells than he does’_.

Richie muffled a snigger, writing back ‘ _you wrote that on paper staniel, im going to get it published. you dun fucked up’_.

In big, bubble letters where he used a yellow highlighter to perfectly color in the lines, Stan admired his work that depicted  _‘FUCK YOU’_.

As he passed the piece of paper back to Richie, their teacher became aware of their note passing. He scowled, clipped his lazer pointer pen back into the stained pocket of his button up shirt, and slowly stomped towards the two.

“Boys, would you like to share with the rest of the class? These notes must be  _much_  more important than paying attention to my lecture.”

Nervously speaking up, Stan panicked, “It was about homework, sir.”

Looking between Stan’s jittery composure and Richie’s smug smile, he was unconvinced by the lie.

“Is that so gentlemen. Well let me see then, hand it over-”

Richie quickly crumpled and shoved the scrap piece of paper into his mouth. The class burst into laughter, as well as Stan. He chewed the awful tasting inked paper quickly and swallowed, bearing a guiltless smile at the teacher without another word. That infamous, toothy, Tozier smile flashed that his father also sported on occasion.

The teacher pinched the bridge of his nose and wagged a reprimanding finger in Richie’s face, “You’re lucky you have the highest grade in the class, Tozier. Another stunt like that and it’s detention,” then craned his neck to meet Stan’s anxious gaze, “You too, Mr. Uris.”

“You got it, teach’a man,” and Richie used two fingers to salute him. Exhaustedly rolling his eyes, the teacher returned to the front of the class and lectured for the remainder of the period, which was only about fifteen minutes. Before the bell signalled dismissal into the weekend, all of the students were promptly packed and itching to flee the classroom. They sat on the edges of their seats buzzing with excitement.

***BIIIIIING*DING*BIIIIIIIIING***

“Don’t forget to read chapters seven through-” But the teacher’s demands were drowned out by shuffling feet and giddied shrieks as the class stormed out into the swollen mist of rain.  

Swinging his patched backpack over one shoulder, Richie threw the hood of his rain jacket over his head and turned to Stan on their way out with a devilish grin, “You’re welcome.”

Stan blankly positioned his folded bag over the front of his body, “Yeah, okay. Deal’s a deal, what flavor you want this time?”

Richie looked into the sky letting droplets hit his freckled face, and pondered for a moment, “Neapolitan.”

“Neapolitan it is then.”

“With sprinkles. And fudge. And Oreo bits.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Stan chided, briskly shoving Richie’s shoulder. They unlatched their bikes that had been chained next to each other from the bike rack and peddled south of town.

They had this agreement that if one of them ever got the other, or both, out of trouble (detention, arrested,  _whatever_ ) then they owed a serving of ice cream. It’s a simple enough compromise. Stan religiously ordered butter pecan, but Richie’s choice was always a gamble. Detention was a waste of fucking time, even for Richie who had spent more than enough hours there, and if they could avoid sitting in silence without doing anything for god knows how long, they rewarded each other. It’s what best friends did.

Pumping hard with his feet, Richie swiveled up on his bike alongside Stan and exclaimed, “Did you know kangaroos have two uteruses?”

Stan chuckled and shook the rain off of the top of his curls with a jolt, “You reading animal porn now?”

“The males even have two dicks to match, can ya believe that? Nature is fuckin’ craz-”

Stan abruptly yanked the brakes of his bike with enough force to slide and create a minor tire mark in the middle of the street, where Richie shut his trap and followed Stan’s lead. He was wildly confused, but mirrored him nonetheless, for Stan always had reason behind his actions.  _Always_. Richie would never admit, but he believed Stan to be wise beyond his years, and when Stan did something unusual it was best to pay attention. Richie was smart, brilliant even, but Stan possessed a superpower of intuitive awareness.  

Face stern and focused with calculation, Stan tipped his hooded head in different directions to pick up on a sound Richie failed to initially acknowledge. All Richie heard was rain.

He pushed midnight curls aside to frame his thick glasses, “Stan?”

Pressing a strict finger to his lips, Stan shot him sharp eyes, “ _Shhhhh_.” They listened.

Then he heard it. Little chirps echoed off of the asphalt; a peculiar place for bird noises to be coming from, especially during a storm of this severity. How Stan was able to pick up on the muted cries flashing by on a bicycle astonished Richie. It was indeed a superpower.

Zeroing in on the location of the bird, Stan hopped off his bike and propped it gently against a tree to stay upright. Richie carelessly threw his bike down on the soaked grass lining the sidewalk.

“That’s a black-capped chickadee. A distress call,” Stan informed with concern, Richie trailing close behind.

“Gotcha.”

Stan strutted to a close American elm tree, scaled his eyes up the trunk, and saw a nest. It didn’t titter, make noise, it only rustled with the passing winds of the storm under its protective canopy of leaves. He circles the tree’s trunk and on the other side, in the unmowed grass, a petit bird hobbled, desperately alerting for help.

Richie’s expression was one of bewilderment, “Holy shit, how’d you-”

Bringing his knees to the ground without care of getting grass stains on his khakis, Stan expertly picked the chick up and evaluated it. He stretched out its wings, made sure there was a healthy pulse, and strategically bent certain limbs to check for breaks. Richie just watched with magnified eyes.

Grunting, Stan seemed to have found his answer, “Rich, got anything hard and flat?”

As much as Richie wanted to make a disastrous joke, he refrained.

With Stan gingerly holding the young chickadee’s foot cradled in his palm, Richie innately understood his inquiry. Chucking off his backpack, Richie found a popsicle stick that he had neglected to throw away days ago and snapped it in thirds. He offered a piece of it to Stan’s free hand.

Stan continued, “Get the bandaids out of the front button in my bag too.”

The chickadee had a broken foot. It was nearly shattered from presumably falling out of the tree, needing adjustment and splinting to heal properly. Correcting the bird’s mangled digits, Stan flattened out its foot (even though it nipped his hands and drew blood in places), and used the bandaids to wrap the appendage atop the piece of popsicle stick to keep it straight. While the bird seemed angry with him in the process, it eventually relaxed, and cooed chirps of comfort rather than distress as it was being wrapped. It realized it was being helped and not under siege by a predator. This was a friend.

Richie admiringly observed, sitting cross-legged next to his best friend with a warm smile, “That was amazing, buddy. You’re going to make a great ornithologist some day. I know it.”

Stan only responded with a creviced, dimpled smile. He shed the sweater under his raincoat and made a ‘nest’ in his bag to transfer the chickadee safely. Instead of heading for the ice cream parlor, they rode their bikes back to Richie’s house to care for the young bird and make it a temporary home until it was healthy enough to release back into the wild.

Ice cream could always wait.


	6. Pie, Then Uber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> constantreaderfool asked: How about some fluffy reddie piggy back rides???
> 
> Ask and you shall receive. Enjoy this ~mildly~ nsfw Reddie fluff, happy Thanksgiving weekend drunkards ;)

Resting his head comfortably on Eddie’s shoulder, Richie took an obscenely large sip of his wine then whispered with a sultry heat into his ear, “ _Baby_.”

Eddie instinctively shuddered at the indirect, intimate contact.

Richie crept his fingers up Eddie’s inner clothed thigh under the hanging table cloth. Eddie shot him a warning glance, but did jack  _shit_  to combat his boyfriend’s lusty touches. If anything, he spread his legs a little more, welcoming Richie’s gropes despite the scowl.  _Fuck_ , he loved Richie’s hands on him; his large, strong, lengthy, practiced hands.

The Tozier household was filled to the brim with people this holiday. They were a family of three that loved to entertain, and not just Richie, Maggie and Wentworth Tozier also practically lived for the dramatics. There were cousins, children of cousins, second removed aunts, family friends, the postman that delivered their mail for twenty years and was recently widowed (and played the piano expertly whenever he came over), grandparents, and speckled neighbors from their street in attendance. And even though it was Thanksgiving, they all went home with party favors. It may have been a piece of pie, a decoration pulled off the wall, a saran wrapped bundle of extra rolls, a half empty bottle of cabernet, a person— but everyone went home with  _something_.

And of course, Richie and his boyfriend Eddie were there. Or, Eddie and  _his_  boyfriend at this point; they were inseparable. None of the family expected Richie’s high school “fling” or “phase”  to extend into his late twenties, but here they were, serious and very much infatuated with each other as they had been since when they met in their youth. And if Richie could vouch for himself, he believed the entirety of his family to favor Eddie over himself. 

 _Good_.

Eddie took a swig of his own wine and regained poor focus to place his palm over Richie’s advancing hand, “ _Later_ ,” and planted a teasing kiss to his nose. Richie audibly huffed, but grinned a crooked smile at Eddie with the unwritten promise.

He reluctantly removed his hand from Eddie’s thigh and cheerfully shouted over the loud conversations of the table for his mom in the other room, “MAGS! Is it pie time?”

Maggie Tozier hailed back, “Pie Time!”

The hand that had been on Eddie’s thigh snaked around his waist and settled happily with a few fingers hooked in his dress pants belt loop. Richie’s grasp tightened and needily pulled to bring Eddie’s body closer to his own. Eddie didn’t fight it. Feeling Richie’s chest rise and sink haggardly against his side made Eddie melt closer, close enough to tuck his nose into Richie’s overgrown ginger curls, which had been freshly washed and groomed for the occasion. He sniffed pleasant fumes of vanilla and cinnamon.

_I bought that conditioner for him._

“Who wants apple, and who wants pumpkin?” Maggie Tozier happily asked as she waltzed into the dining room with two pies, one in each hand.

Wentworth was the first to speak up, and with the proudest, most loving grin swept across his face, “ _Pecan_.” The table jittered with amused laughter.

Maggie playfully pinched her face, “Apple it is then.” She knew he would want apple anyway. Richie winked at his father across the table with Eddie pressed to his side, and Went winked back with just as much enthusiasm.

Half slurring his words, Richie rested his head on top of Eddie’s, “What kind o’ pie you want, lover bugger?”

“Pecan,” Eddie chimed.

Richie purred into the blonde waves under his chin, and rubbed his thumb in circles where his hand rested on Eddie’s waist, “I always knew you were a pumpkin kind of broad.” As Maggie was right about Went wanting apple, Richie was correct about Eddie wanting pumpkin, despite what came out of his mouth.

They shared an absurdly gargantuan piece of pumpkin pie that Maggie had portioned for them (with more whipped cream than pie, arguably, and by Richie’s hysteric demand). Some of that whipped cream ended up smeared across Richie’s glasses and nose, where the remainder was impulsively smacked in Eddie’s face. A lot of things made Eddie mad, but whipped cream across his face was fortunately not one of them.

Eddie used his index finger to swipe up the clump of whipped cream perched on Richie’s nose. Swirling his tongue seductively to lap up the cream, he made burning eye contact with his boyfriend in the process. Richie had just enough vision through his fogged lenses to get the full picture. And it was…… it was time to  _go_.

Everyone went home with a party favor from the Tozier’s home. And even though Richie was a Tozier himself, his party favor going home was Eddie. 

Every year it was Eddie.

Richie stood up and walked to the head of the table with Eddie’s hand interwoven in his own, “My good fellows! Family! Munchkin children, humans of normal size, foxy amigos, señores, debutantes! It’s time for me and this meal of delicious stromboli to make our way out,” he held Eddie’s clamped hand and shoved it into the air like a victory. Eddie blushed, but shrugged with an agreeing, coy smile.

Leaning back in his chair, Went raised his glass of brandy to his son, “Make it home safe, dumbass.”

Two honks wailed from outside.

“Tha’s our golden chariot,” Richie sang, still with whipped cream on parts of his body and Eddie’s hand in his own. He skipped from his place and strutted out of the stained glass double doors to meet the Uber that Maggie had called both of them.

Eddie was the one to greet the driver, “Elliot?”

The driver gave them a skeptical stare, “Mhm yeah that’s me, which one of you is Maggie?”

Richie yiped, “That would be my mother, mom, mum, dearest. Mommy Tozier. An angel to bless this fucking Eart-”

Eddie lightly pinched his side to keep him quiet. If the driver inquired that they were too drunk to ride, he could possibly throw them out or deny them service. Eddie wasn’t willing at this point to take that risk, especially when it had freshly snowed and the snow continued to fall.

Scaling his eyes over the two, Elliot sighed and unlocked the doors for them to get in. Anyone doing Uber calls on Thanksgiving couldn’t of had a good holiday, and Elliot was no exception. His girlfriend left him a few days ago, he had no family that wanted to spend today with him, and his only coping mechanism was to make easy money.

The two tumbled into the backseat and made themselves comfortable. Eddie fumbled lucid hands to buckle his seatbelt, where Richie neglected that safety and instead just cuddled up next to him. He untucked Eddie’s dress shirt, slyly unbuckled his pants belt and seatbelt, and slipped his hand below the waistband ever so slightly to feel the warm of his boyfriend’s skin. It wasn’t obvious considering they were behind the driver’s seat, but Eddie could have lit up a stadium with the flustered, saturated pink glow of his face.

Richie nuzzled harder into Eddie’s side and lifted his head to meet his hazel eyes, “You’re hot.”

Flopping an arm around Richie, Eddie giggled and squeezed. Perhaps if he was sober, he would have been disgruntled at Richie unbuckling his belts, but he didn’t argue here. Eddie relaxed his upper body and sweetly responded, “Ma always said I had a constant fever.”

“The one thing she was right about.”

Feeling his temperature boil, Eddie agreed, “You’re right.”

Sinking his hand deeper into Eddie’s pants, Richie easily slid in to cup the bulge he wanted to rest his palm over. Richie lurched up from his nudged position to be taller once more, breathing heavily on to Eddie’s skin. He burned chaste kisses on to every patch of skin he could reach, as well as nipped bites into Eddie’s exposed neck, “I can’t wait to get home and fuck you.”

Eddie whipped his head from where it had been lounging on the headrest and wove a set of fingers into Richie’s hair to pull him into a needy kiss. Where they thought they were discreet before, the smacking of their lips soon overrode the melancholy music Elliot had been playing on the radio.

Spreading his legs a little more and sinking deeper into the seat, Eddie let Richie feel him;  _all_ of him. Even though Richie’s hand wasn’t skin to skin, caressing his length like he had wanted all night, the palming of his cock underneath his pants in the back of an Uber was sufficiently erotic for him to get desperately hard; more torqued than he would have liked to admit. He never considered himself an exhibitionist, but  _fuck_ , Richie wanting him anywhere at anytime made his ego skyrocket and some of his prudish installations disintegrate to ash.

Without warning, Eddie bucked his hips and loudly moaned.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richie reacted with a coveting hunger, speaking into his open mouth.

The car halted at a stop sign, and more aggressively than necessary. Elliot begrudgingly turned around to view Richie’s hand down Eddie’s pants and both of their tongues down each other’s throats.

Elliot frustratingly hung his head and pounded on his horn, “Get the fuck out.”

Both Richie and Eddie recoiled, with Richie speaking this time, “Dude it’s snowing,  _come on_. It’s fucking freezing out there-”

“Get out. Now.”

Eddie embarrassed and flushed, buckled his pants and stumbled out of the Uber with Richie following him.

As Elliot drove away in haste, Richie cupped his mouth and shouted, “You’re only getting two stars, fuckface! You would have gotten five if you actually fucking took us home! I’m going to make him cum on all your seats next time!”

“ _Richie_ ,” Eddie scolded, but was bashfully laughing into his coat.

Underneath a flickering street lamp that illuminated falling crystals of ice, Richie snatched Eddie’s waist to be pressed to his front and kissed him on the top of his head, “Good thing we’re not that far from home, huh.”

“It’s still like half a mile though,” Eddie spoke into Richie’s chest.

Richie retracted and jubilantly squatted a foot away, “Hop on then?” 

His frosted hair hung in his face, and he was wobbling a bit, but the offer was exceptionally tempting. Hesitating for a moment, Eddie squinted at his boyfriend’s request. After a few moments, he clapped his hands, feverishly rubbed them together, and signalled through a decided smirk that he was going to take a running start.

“There’s my Eds. Bring it baby,” Richie gushed while anchored in his squat, ready for Eddie to jump on his back. Eddie leapt onto his back and hooked his arms around Richie’s neck, as well as his legs around Richie’s thin waist. If Eddie hadn’t been almost a foot shorter, Richie would have been a fucking goner. But luckily, they balanced each other perfectly: physically, mentally, and most importantly— in piggy back rides.

Eddie snuggled his head into Richie’s curls as he walked, “Poor Elliot. You fucking suck.”

“I know, and really well, if I must admit,” Richie sniggered.

Eddie lightly headbutted him with his forehead and clenched harder to Richie’s body. He was vibrating with love and with the warmth absorbed off of his carrier. Richie transferred him all the way back to their apartment, with the exception of one drunken falter where he almost sent them both face first into the sidewalk, but eventually was able to gently drop Eddie on their doorstep successfully.

Curling his fingers into the collar of Eddie’s coat, Richie exhaustedly cooed, “Please let me fuck you. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep soundly if I don’t.”

As Eddie unlocked their front door, he provocatively shed clothes on his way inside, “Me either. Show me what you got, Rich.”


	7. Twisted Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Uhhhh for the prompts can you write about reddie just goofing around and then accidentally finding themselves in a compromising position??
> 
> Yo listen, this is the kind of shit I live for. Especially if it involves Reddie playing Twister and both being too stubborn to lose, no matter what position they end up ;)

Game night was no time to fuck around.

 

 

The Losers Club fucking around? Absolutely not. This shit was serious.

Bill looked down at his hand of cards (pretty much the whole deck at this point), then to Stan’s complacent face from across the table. His features spoke  _‘there’s no fucking way you're winning’_ , and he was fucking right…. maybe. The worst part about all this is that both of them bet $50 on a  game of luck, $50 that neither of them really wanted to or could afford to sacrifice, but both did anyway, and Bill had spat mad smack the entirety of their game. 

Uno was no laughing matter.

Running his eyes over his fan of cards, Bill hesitantly chose a green 8 and slid it across the table. He was satisfied with his pick, for Stan had played all yellows and reds for the past 6 turns, and yes, he counted. The odds seemed to be in his favor with this track record. Stan pinched his lips and anxiously scratched the underside of his chin with the hand not holding his last card. He took dreadfully long, in Bill’s opinion, and laid down the the only card he had, but upside down.

Getting impatient, Bill rustled, “Well s-show it already! There’s n-nuh-no strategy, just lay down t-thu-the damn card, Stan!”

Stan hung his head in defeat and reached for the pile of shuffled scrap cards, “Fine.”

“T-T-That smug fuh-ucking face all for nothin-”

He sharply retracted his hand and flipped a green 9 over to slam on top of Bill’s card without looking up.

“You mother f-fuh-f-fucker.”

Devious, slit pupils peeped from underneath his tight curls, “Looks like you owe me fifty big ones, Denbrough.”

“Fifty b-bucks yeah, not five huh-dred,” Bill slumped in his chair like a pouty child, defeated. He wanted to buy an upgraded XBOX controller with that money, and a new bean bag chair with the $50 he was preemptively expecting to win from Stan. Instead, he sat in his metaphorical salt marsh of being short $50. Stan only straightened his posture and gleamed, holding out a flattened palm for his reward.

A crash of pots and pans hurdled out from the cabinets and on to the linoleum floors, puncturing the ear drums of everyone in the Hanscom household, even the cat. A collective flinch among the Losers was shared from the clanging metal.

“Fuck, sorry fellas!”

Beverly popped her head out from around the corner of the kitchen, “Dumbass thought Eddie hid his Christmas gift in the cabinet.”

Mike, who had been observantly watching the Uno game from the couch piped up, “And was it?”

She licked her finger and slicked a curl behind her ear, “Nope.”

“ _Fuck_!” Richie yelled again.

Normally, game nights would be held at Bill’s house, but tonight was an exception. Ben’s mom was visiting his lonely aunt in Washington and asked her responsible son to watch the house. Of course she allowed him to have friends over, she trusted him more than God himself, but even Ben had to admit that keeping his house out of harm’s way was a big task. A task, but one that was worth it to have his best friends brighten his home on a snowy winter’s eve.

Eddie’s head breached underneath Beverly’s, “He’s not even close,” and mouthed to Mike  _‘it’s in the trunk of his own fucking car’_.

“Gimme a hint?” Richie hailed.

Eddie just endearingly smiled at his friends in the living room without turning his head, “Absolutely fucking not, Rich.”

“ _Fuck_!” He chirped for the third time.

Waltzing with a chipper pep to his step into his living room, Ben held both hands behind his back, “Hey guys, I found an old game of mine. I used to love this one.”

“How old can it be Benjamin, you’re 18,” Stan snorted, pocketing the money he won from Bill.

Ben bellowed a characteristic bellied laugh, “Old enough to still be fun.”

Beverly skipped out of the kitchen and attempted to snatch the item Ben was hiding behind his back, “What is it? What is it, what is it, huh?”

He gently pushed her hip aside to divert her grabbing twirl, and managed to plop a kiss on her nose as she was scooted to his left, “Twister, honey.”

She swiftly yanked the game out of his hands on the outturn of her twirl and shook her body with excitement, “I love Twister!” Clutching the box to her bosoms and tipping a foot off the ground, she gave Ben a firm kiss on the lips.

Bill sat closely next to Stan on the couch, with Mike lounging on the arm, “Y-Yak.”

“Don’t be such a bitter butter, Denbruh,” and Richie kissed the air consecutively in his direction, after sneaking behind Eddie and pulling him into a suffocating hug.

“I-I think you mean Nu-nuh-tter Butter.”

Richie happily planted sloppy pecks onto Eddie’s rosied cheeks as he squirmed away, “Yeah whatever.”

Through sullied giggles, Eddie meekly protested, “Richie, fuck, Richie STOP!”

As Eddie made his way to the couch, Richie obediently followed, with his arms looping around Eddie’s waist and mimicking his short-legged gate. Eddie may have told Richie to stop, perhaps even a thousand times, but here he was, placing his heated palms on top of Richie’s on his hips and leaning his head back against his chest.

“Who wants to play? We need four players.” Ben asked, laying out the plastic gameboard with the help of his girlfriend. Beverly splayed out across it, even in her primly ironed dress, to flatten the thing out for gameplay.

Richie blew a tickling raspberry into the side of Eddie’s neck, initiating a surprised yelp.  

“Okay so Eddie wants to play, any other takers?”

“ _Really_?”

“Oh me, please me good sir!” Richie snarked after being elbowed by Eddie, who was nearly in his lap.

Mike sniggered, garbling under his breath so only Stan and Bill could hear from the couch, “Get a damn room, motherfuckers.”

“I’ll play, I’m on a winning streak anyway, Bill, want to bet again?” And Stan shot a coy glare at Bill as he stood up.

Bill puffed his chest, “Yeah m-me too. Count m-me in.”

Even though she was disappointed she didn’t get to opt in and play this round, Beverly was pleased with the opportunity to spin the color directory alongside Mike and Ben. She made sure she held the wheel so that if there were chances to make this game as tedious as possible, she would have the liberty to cheat if need be and make that decision. Right now, she was their God. And Beverly Marsh was going to make this game as inconvenient as humanly possible.

Sitting with her legs awkwardly crossed on the shag carpet against Ben’s body, she announced with a devilish lull, “So, who’s first?”

“Bill,” Eddie chortled coincidentally in sync with Richie, who nudged him kindly in agreeance.

Beverly spun the wheel, “Right foot red, Bill.”

Many turns came and went without problematic intervention, snide comments, or even side chatter. The farther the game deepened, the more serious it got. The four playing were in no mood to lose to their childhood friends, and in Bill and Stan’s case, their significant other. Even Richie, who took nothing seriously and absorbed certain things with a grain of salt that should be taken with a brick of concrete, and who at other times could make events that would usually be fun and games become life and death. Twister was a gladiator’s battle.

Eddie admired Bill and Stan’s relationship; how he wished that he had had something like that. As he pinched Eddie’s side to make him squirm, Richie thought the same thing.

Unfortunately, Bill and Stan relinquished their efforts relatively soon. They were both struggling, and without words made knowing eye contact, crumpling to the floor simultaneously so that they both lost at the same time. As much as Bill would have loved to beat Stan once tonight, at any fucking game that they played really, he found a peaceful truce to be just as satisfying, especially, when it resulted in extra affection that he wouldn’t have gotten if he had boastfully won. Losing the $50 and a round of Twister was worth it if he went home with a pleased Stan. A happy Stan was the best Stan and every Loser could attest to this. You didn’t have to date Stan to know this.

“Left foot yellow, Eddie,” Bev cackled, knowing very well that the arrow had landed on a different color and direction for her to announce. Bill and Stan cuddled close on the couch, watching Richie and Eddie continue their chaotic game of tangled limbs.

Eddie shot her a horrified glance, “This game is hacked, there’s no way.  _There’s no way,_  Ben? Help?  _Bill_?”

Ben calmly overlooked Beverly’s shoulder to see that it indeed should have been right foot blue, “Yup, left foot yellow.”

Stan let out an incredulous twitter with Bill’s arm around him, blatantly amused.

There was no hiding that grin. Richie’s face darkened into a smirk that could have physically assaulted Eddie with his satisfaction, but instead, Bev and Ben did it for him.

“Listen to the Lord Eds, She hath spoken.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.  _Ben_?”

“Sorry bud. She hath spoken.”

Begrudgingly making his body twist over, Eddie had no choice but to straddle Richie’s torso to reach his toes of his left foot to touch the closest yellow circle, otherwise risking losing the game. Their groins pressed against each other too tightly, even for Richie to keep his propped body up in pristine form. This position made it fucking hard to maintain any kind of strength, focus, or composure.

Richie’s face blushed crimson with his delight, “Bev, next? Please?”

“Right foot blue.”

This was a harmless enough turn; all Richie had to do was shift his foot one circle up. He did so with minimal grace, and was able to support Eddie’s body weight on top of him. Eddie lightly bounced as Richie shifted his body weight under him, and if Eddie didn’t feel his sprouting boner beforehand, now it was painfully obvious. There was no hiding the excitement in Eddie’s pants either, from Richie’s point of view.

Sitting in Ben’s lap, Beverly spun the arrow of the wheel and unleashed a harpy’s laugh, “Right hand red!”

Both Eddie and Richie’s faces dropped. She couldn’t be fucking serious.

“Ben? Is she fucking serious?”

Even Richie weakly asked with droplets of sweat making their way down the side of his face, “I’m dyin’ here, you trynna kill me Haystack?”

Leaning up from his comfortable perch, Ben sternly analyzed the chart in Bev’s lap, and for the first time it had actually landed on what Beverly shouted aloud, “Right hand red, she’s not lying.”

Eddie shook his head, making eye contact with Richie, “Don’t hate me for this.”

Richie unsuccessfully gulped the growing lump in his throat, his eyes widened to a cartoonish size, and his breathing picked up, “I won’t,  _trust me_. Go for it.”

Extending his body over Richie’s while still straddled, Eddie scooted his short frame forward to place a hand on a red circle. Eddie’s crotch hovered directly over Richie’s face and he worked to the best of his ability to keep himself from relaxing even an inch. Otherwise, he’d literally be sitting on his face.

“Rest in pieces, Richie,” Mike giggled.

“Can it, Michael,” Eddie barked.

The rest of the Losers not playing were muffling fits of laughter. Even Stan, who initially found this ploy to be childish, was now hiding his head in his shoulder to keep from outwardly laughing. Seeing Richie struggle so hard was a damn treasure.

Eddie’s crotch brushed Richie’s nose and he whispered to himself, ‘ _Fuckin’ Christ, Eds’_.

His body began to horribly tremble. He was close to buckling completely; from holding the same position with his noodle arms for so long, and from the electric surges of arousal he felt swarming his pants. The tickle his nose endured was the cherry on top, and there was no avoiding the sneeze building in his sinuses. A fucking sneeze doomed him to a loss.

“ _Achooo_!”

Violently sneezing into Eddie’s crotch, both of them collapsed, with Eddie falling onto Richie’s face. Exactly what Eddie didn’t want to happen. Eddie scrambled to roll off of Richie, flustered beyond his control. They whipped their heads to look at each other for a moment of silence before breaking out into laughter with their audience. Both of them were scarlet, and not just in the face— but everywhere.

Richie sat up dumbstruck, quickly crossing his legs to avoid himself further embarrassment. He flashed a goofy grin at Eddie with fluttering eyelids and a wink, “I don’t know, I think I fucking won.”

Eddie, who also had his legs crossed, laughed into his hands, “You lost the game, liar.”

Pushing himself off the floor to tackle Eddie, Richie smittenly cooed, “Wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout the game.”

If they weren’t dating before, it was bound to happen sooner or later, especially after that tomfoolery. Dumb boys, dumb boys. One day it’ll happen.


	8. Frizzy Locked Carnies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly and Richie are in the midst of their last week of finals ever at Derry University. It’s important to study; if you want to make it through school, you have to be painfully dedicated. However when a loved, sketchy carnival comes back to town that hasn’t made an appearance since when they were kids, Richie and Beverly decide to take a night off from schoolwork and relive past times from their youth. Trespassing, whiskey, and late night talks is what they’re all about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt @s-tanleyuris: “im big sad write me something stupid pls”
> 
> I’m here to turn big sad into big uwu, so indulge in some Beverly and Richie idiocy. I love them and their friendship, and I know you do too ;) EVERYONE SHOULD SHIP THIS BROTP OK, THAT’S THE FUCKING TEA

With the eraser end of a mechanical pencil clenched between her teeth, Beverly sat at her shabby desk with sullied concentration, scowling at her uncompleted assignment. She was an intelligent person, very, but even the smartest people have those subjects that they’re just not naturally gifted at. Math was one of them for Beverly Marsh. Numbers were fine, but why the fuck would anyone add letters? Variables? The fuck?

 

If she wanted to graduate college however, she needed to pass precalculus. It was the only class standing in the way of her degree.

 

She dropped the pencil and slammed her head on the table out of frustration, “ _Fuck_ , ouch,” but her head stayed there until her cellphone rang. Lifting exhausted eyes to look at the caller’s name, her face split into a warm, widened smile. No one else called her this late, or early in the morning.

 

“What’s up dumbass,” Bev greeted with a gleed enervation.

 

“Nuffin’, just wanted to talk. Whatcha up to hmmmm?” Richie happily jittered on the other line. A howling wind blew over the receiver, crackling the connection as he spoke. He must have been outside somewhere smoking a cigarette; ever since his landlord caught on to the fact that he had been lighting up in his non-smoking apartment, he had been making surprise visits.

 

She half laughed and looked at her watch that read 1 AM, “Oh you know, just studying for my final. I’m fucking doomed.”

 

“Phooey! I bet you’re going to be great kid, no test can beat tha’ marvelous Ms. Marsh,” and he lougied a wad of spit to litter the grass. Her assumption had been right, he was smoking— she knew him all too well.

 

“It’s precalc.”

 

“Oh shit, yeah you’re doomed.”

 

“Thanks for the encouragement, yeesh. I need to pass this test, I’m kind of freaking out, and I only have three more days to study.” She fidgeted with the ragged hem of her sweatshirt and tapped her foot to make an arrhythmic beat against the wooden floors.

 

“Well i think I have the perfect proposition for ya deary.”

 

Bev cocked her head and leaned back in her chair, “I’m listening.”

 

“I didn’t actually call you to talk, I really wanted to-” And she heard him grunt, breath heavily between quipped curses, along with rustling of leaves.

 

“Wanted to what? _Hello_?”

 

“Open up, will ya? I’m freezing.”

 

She jerked her body towards her window to see Richie Tozier straddling a flimsy tree branch and waving at her with the phone pressed to his ear with the top of his shoulder. He had to use the hand not goofily waving to keep from toppling to the ground.

 

All of the Losers decided together that they would attend the University of Derry. Of course some of them aspired to go to other schools, but honestly, being away from each other wasn’t something any of them were ready to endure. Leaving their parents? Sure. But they didn’t want to grow distant, possibly forget, or break the strong collective relationship that had kept them whole throughout their youth. They were a family, and more of a family than their actual blood.  

 

And in Richie and Beverly’s case, they would have done just about anything to stay close to each other. Just as much as Richie needed Eddie, he also needed Bev.

 

Unlatching her apartment window, she endearingly chuckled, “Get in, get in c’mon. You’re lucky my roommate’s out, she’d be pissed.”

 

“Nancy? That stick in the mud has a barbed spike so far up her ass its coming out of her damn mouth. Just a mousy-haired, ‘ _I wear frilled socks unironically_ ’, likes doing laundry, no good bitc-”

 

Bev pinched his lips, “I get it, she sucks, fuck her honestly. These are facts.”

 

“I would _never_ fuck her.”

 

“I don’t know anyone that would.”

 

Flopping onto her bed, and kicking off his muddied leather boots that still made prints on her floor, he mused, “Okay so remember that shitty carnival that came to town every year when we were kids, and then just disappeared? Never came back? Gone-zo?”

 

Laying next to him with red curls falling over her face, she nostalgically sighed, “It was awful, but it was  _perfectly_ awful. I miss that garbage circus. I don’t know, maybe I just favor trash-like things,” and she craned her head to wink at him.

 

Ignoring the comment, Richie excitedly jolted up and brought his voice down to a whisper, “It’s _back_.”

 

Just as hyped, she popped up as well, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

 

“Exactly why I’m here good lookin’,” and Richie curled his arm around her neck to roughly ruffle her already wild hair as she punched his side. This was an attribute they shared; Richie always had overgrown midnight curls, and Bev’s hair remained to be a frizzy furnace of sparked fire that seemed to never get brushed.

 

She finally was able to pull away, “Does Eddie know about this?”

 

“He’s been asleep for hours, but I told him about the carnival,” and straightening his posture with crossed arms raised to his chin he made his best impression of his boyfriend, “Richard that dangerous carnival deathtrap is back! You and Bev don’t be dumb, yada yada! I’m short! And very cute!”

 

Beverly shoved him, but continued to impersonate Eddie off of Richie’s lead, “And don’t drink too much! It’s unhealthy and hurts your liver! I’m gay!”

 

Richie raised his eyebrows and shook Beverly’s shoulders with a rattling force, “Oh my god, Eds? Is that you? Get out of there!”

 

She cackled through his shakes and squirmed out of his grasp to put on her sneakers, “I’m hoping you have what I think you have. It’s too late to buy-”

 

Opening up his leather jacket, Richie pulled out a fifth of whiskey, “Dude, whomst tha’ fuck you think I am? Really?”

 

“Brilliant. An absolute fucking genius,” and she firmly kissed him on the top of the head, lingering for a moment with appreciation before plopping off, as she stood up to zip her jacket. There was a heated love in that kiss that she only ever gave to Richie, much different from any person in the Losers Club, or on Earth. They were platonic soulmates, and the shared kisses that they sweetly planted on each other were exclusive within their friendship. Not many people would ever have a bond like Richie and Bev, and they knew this to be fact.

 

Smiling fondly at her, he put the bottle back in his jacket, “You flatter me.”

 

“I’ll go, but what about my test? If I flunk college because of this one fucking class I’m going to murde-”

 

Richie smugly wiped nonexistent dust off the front of his shoulders, “I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to help you sooner. We’ll get you a C+ on that final Bevvie, don’t you worry.”

 

“Seriously, a C+?”

 

“Aye I don’t work miracles baby, let’s get a move on!”

 

She settled for the C+ promise in her head, “Fucker.”

 

Arm in arm, they walked to Richie’s ‘69 Camaro that he was gifted by his father. It was one of his prized possessions, even though he wasn’t your typical car enthusiast. With Eddie’s help and patience, Richie and Wentworth were able to fix it up after months of expending scrupulous elbow grease. And Eddie loved the car too. Even though it wasn’t technically his, he saw it as one of his prized possessions as well, having been the main mechanic for it. The car was a fucking gem.

 

They drove about 3 miles to the outskirt of Derry, both chain smoking stale cigarettes for the ride with the windows down, blasting classic rock tunes at an obscene volume. They didn’t care that it was late, not even slightly. There was something special about sinking back into their early teenage years; heading to this night sullen carnival that encouraged old habits and resurfaced loved, past memories, but now in their more “mature” years. Were they more mature? Yes. Did they have the same spirits as they had when they were fourteen? Absolutely.

 

All adults were just teenagers trapped in aging bodies.

 

“I’ll park the car, go do a lookout lap,” Richie comfortably ordered.

 

“On it.”

 

Beverly hopped out of the Camaro to line the fenced perimeter of the carnival. It looked exactly as it had ten years ago. The same rides were there, the same game booths were all closed up, they were all even in the same layout on the lot. She read the fence’s shambled warning, ‘ _Trespassers will be prosecuted_ ’. Even the sign on the fence was exactly the same, and with the same burn smudges on them; burn marks that they had caused so many years ago.

 

Richie jogged across the grass to meet Beverly after she gave the “ok” wave, with keys and chains jingling off of his jacket.

 

“Ready?” Beverly ushered, already grabbing ahold of the fence.

 

“You betcha.”

 

They skillfully scaled the fence, even after ten years of not doing so, and lowered themselves onto the dirt on the other side. Both taking a simultaneous deep breath, it baffled them how the air on the inside of this carnival always had a uniquely haunting scent. The fence was wired, had holes through it, it was illogical to think that once on the inside of the fence that the air changed, but to Beverly and Richie, it did. On the outside, mowed grass and fog that wreaked of sewage swam in the air. Once inside the carnival, it was a dryer air that made the inside of your nose sting with dust particles, remnants of machinery exhaust, and spilled blue raspberry slushies.

 

Beverly wove her fingers with Richie’s without looking at him, “Follow me.”

 

They walked to the familiar mirrored haunted house attraction, and climbed the ladder bolted to its north side to sit closely next to each other on top. It was significantly more creaky than the last time they had perched atop this building, but it still felt the same. This was their spot, always had been their spot.

 

Scooting closer to Richie for warmth, she ran her eyes over the unlit ferris wheel and smiled, “Remember when you climbed out of your seat when it was moving to ask Eddie out?”

 

Richie strung an arm around her and pulled her close enough so that her head was tucked in his shoulder, “Yeah, I would’ve done anything to get that boy to notice me, and _fuck_ , it worked! Took long enough. I wouldn’t have done anything different.”

 

She snaked an arm across Richie’s waist to reach into his pocket and grab the bottle of whiskey, “I think I was the only one proud of you for that. It was fucking dumb, dangerous as all hell, but I was so proud of you.”

 

Richie sprouted a prideful grin, “I know, I remember seeing you at the bottom of the wheel whistlin’ with ya fingers in your mouth. I think you might have been just as happy as me.”

 

“Oh i don’t know about that,” and she lightly flicked her bony shoulder into Richie.

 

Rudely snatching the bottle out of her hand, he took the first swig with a comical cringe. She took the second gulp without any kind of shudder. With Beverly, he felt he could be serious and silly all at the same time. There were no boundaries to what they could talk about. His body heat warmed her side as he analyzed the faire grounds, “You know, I never knew how much I missed these nights until they went away.”

 

Bev took another humongous swig of the bottle, “And for ten years. Where did that time go?”

 

Richie sniggered, “Up Nancy’s ass.”

 

She threw her head back with laughter, “That fucking monster!”

 

The full moon brightly illuminated the sleeping carnival in the night. The shadows danced along the backyard-made rides, the nailed sheds, the abandoned soda cups on the ground, but it was beautifully enchanting. It was just as they remembered— creepy quirks, and silent, chilled breezes.

 

They talked for hours pressed together atop that haunted house swigging from a whiskey bottle, and switching off in lovingly insulting banter. Richie outstretched his hand to the sky, “Hey look! There’s the only star you can ever fucking see!”

 

“Smog, man,” Beverly shook her head, making her brain slightly spin.

 

Turning out from their cuddled tangle, Richie adjusted his glasses and took both of Bev’s hands, “Thanks for comin’ with me tonight.”

 

“You know I’ve never been good at saying no to you,” and she squeezed the hands that held hers with intense, affectionate intention.

 

He was a lot heavier than he was when he was fourteen, but he still crawled into her lap and wrapped his arms around her like he used to, “Love ya, Bevvie.”

 

She relaxed her body and wrapped her arms around Richie’s torso, “I love you too, Rich. You’ll always be my best friend.”

 

Richie squeezed tighter and smiled into her frosted curls, “My bitch.”


End file.
